


Weak Hearted

by baku_boom



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Doctor!Allura, F/F, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Heart Disease!Lance, Keith rides a motorcycle, M/M, Minor Character Death, Phobia of Doctors, Sad Flashbacks, hospital au kinda, klance, more tags later on, nurse!keith
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-05-21
Updated: 2018-05-30
Packaged: 2019-05-09 16:46:45
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,787
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14719862
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/baku_boom/pseuds/baku_boom
Summary: Lance has some heart troubles, physical and mental ones to be exact.~~~ON HIATUS~~~





	1. Ache in My Chest

**Author's Note:**

> If you guys discover mistakes, please let me know. I'm not a cardiologist, so all the facts are from sources I believe are reliable. Thank you for reading this train wreck.

Lance hated this place. Thinking like this distracted him from his surroundings. The many posters lining the walls about human anatomy and framed horror stories of people whose lives fell apart because they didn't get vaccinated. The paper he was sitting on had flowers of multiple colors and sizes, like it was meant for a child, but that only made him feel depressed. To make things worse, a small tray on the counters that lined one wall had several sharp syringes on it.

 

The smell was honestly the best thing. It carried a hint of lilacs, but was mostly overpowered by the trademark bleach smell of hospitals. But then it brought on a sudden remembrance of the plain white rooms of the terminal ward, dust filled sunbeams, marigolds, and the sweet smile of his mother. He felt tears in his eyes, and decided that maybe the smell wasn't the best thing to focus on. Pulling out his iPhone, Lance checked the time for the sixteenth time. He had been waiting for seven minutes, which felt more like hours. He groaned and shoved his earbuds in and started to play music at a loud volume. He tapped his fingers to the beat, waiting for someone to come in. He thought about how cross Hunk had been, setting up this appointment without his permission. He had considered skipping the appointment, but Hunk had diminished those thoughts. His exact words had been: “If you don't go to, I will personally come here and drag you there.” Lance didn't doubt it, seeing as Hunk had done so for several job interviews.

  
"It’s cold in here," He thought to himself. His toes had gone numb already. "I wonder how Shiro and Allura can stand this for twenty four hour shifts." Shiro worked as a general doctor, for sure doing Lance’s checkup, and Allura was cardiologist. He had met them through Hunk and Pidge a couple months ago, becoming close friends quickly. Hunk had told them about the problems Lance had been having, and they were just as strict as Hunk about getting him this appointment.The Cuban looked down at his legs, which were clad in ripped blue jeans. He picked at the tip of the large scab on his thigh, visible through one of the rips. He remembered how he was so anxious for today that he had scratched away a large spot of skin. Pidge had come in and held his hands down telling him comforting things until he fell asleep. The music pounded in his ears and he pulled the scab halfway off.

  
A pale hand grabbed Lance's own caramel wrist. He jumped and looked up, to meet a pair of beautiful violet eyes. They looked like they had trapped the stars inside, holding them hostage to entrance guys like Lance. “That's not a good way for scabs to heal.” The person said in a smooth voice, tone serious. Lance pulled his wrist out of the pers- no, guy's hand. He tugged out his earbuds and paused his music, hoping he wasn't blushing in embarrassment. The dude remained indifferent by Lance’s face, continuing to speak. “I'll get you a band-aid for that, don't pull it off more.” The nurse, presumably, due to the pale blue scrubs he was wearing, said, moving away to the cupboards. Lance took in the other details about him. He had longish black hair that formed a somewhat mullet, and from what Lance could see, the nurse’s arms were fairly muscular. Not as ripped as Shiro, or Hunk, but better than his own.

  
“I'm Keith Kogane, by the way. And you must be Lance?” Keith, said as he routed through the pantry, pulling out a box of butterfly band-aids and tossing them back in.

 

Lance swallowed, pulling on his usual flirty persona. “Yeah, that's me. You can call me tonight, though.” Keith snorted, then grabbed a box of giant band-aids. The corners of his mouth turned up slightly, and he pulled one out and walked back to Lance.

  
“Okay, _Lance_. You're the dude that choked on a skittle, right? Shiro talks about you a lot. From what I hear, you create quite a lot of drama.” Lance nodded, internally cringing at the memory.

  
Keith bent over Lance's legs, using his pointer finger and thumb to open one of the rips in Lance's pants. He carefully put the band-aid over the scab, rubbing it down softly. He pulled his hands away and straightened after a minute, much to Lance's disappointment. “No more picking, okay, Lance?” Lance nodded shamefully. “I’m gonna ask you a couple of questions, answer them to your fullest ability.”

  
Lance coughed and nodded. This would be the worst part of his week, even worse than the awful chest pains. Keith grabbed a clipboard from a counter and poised his pen over the page. “When was the last time you went to the doctor?” Lance was not a fan of this question.  
“I think I was, um, eleven maybe?” Lance fiddled with the hem of his shirt, avoiding eye contact.

  
Keith raised his eyebrows in shock. “You're twenty now, so you haven't been to the doctor in what, _nine years_?” Lance nodded, sheepishly glancing up at Keith. “Why haven't you gone?” The nurse asked incredulously.

  
Lance was reminded of the painful memories of his past again, how the apartment that his siblings and him lived in only had one room that they all shared, squished together like sardines. He scratched the back of his neck, plastering on a smile. "Not enough pocket pennies, if you get what I mean." He shrugged, looking at a poster of anatomy on the wall.

  
Keith grunted in acknowledgement, then continued his questioning. “Fine. Are you on any medication, or taken any in the past?” Keith looked up, eyes softening as if trying to say "no judgement", but not doing much to ease Lance.

  
Lance shoved his hands under his thighs, the paper on the bench crinkling loudly. “I’m not on anything right now. I used to take Zoloft, though in high school.” He winced at the thought of his high school self, covered in acne and only being able to shop at Goodwill, and not for the aesthetic.

 

"Why'd you stop?" Keith asked, pen scribbling across the papers. Lance stayed silent for a minute, pursing his lip as he thought of a way to word it without embarrassing himself. the  looked back up at when no immediate answer came, raising an eyebrow. 

 

Lance let out a huff. "Same reason as before. We immigrated from Cuba, we couldn't afford all that kinda stuff for very long. 

 

“Have you had any family members with illnesses in the past?”

 

“Uh, yeah. My mom had thyroid cancer.” Lance’s voice shook a little.

 

Keith nodded, scribbling on his clipboard, thankfully ignoring the tremble. He looked up and smile. “Okay, now I'm gonna weigh you, measure your height, and check your blood pressure while we wait for Shiro to get here.” He strolled over to a scale sitting the corner. “Come here please.” He weighed and took Lance’s height within a matter of minutes. “You're almost underweight.” He observed quietly, and Lance shrugged and blamed it on his metabolism. After that, Keith checked Lance’s heart rate, which made him frown, and took his blood pressure, which had to be Lance’s least favorite part. After all the tests, Keith wrote more stuff down on the clipboard, while Lance wiggled back onto the exam table.

  
“What are you writing on there?” Lance asked curiously, leaning forward and craning his neck to peer at the mystery paper.

  
“Notes on your history, current measurements, and other stuff. I doubt you’d understand half of it anyway.” Keith replied snarkily, pushing Lance’s forehead back with his pointer finger. He set the clipboard down face down on the counter. “I’m gonna see if Shiro’s ready yet.” He started toward the door, footsteps echoing through the small examination room.

  
Lance stuck his tongue out at Keith retreating back, then began to swing his legs to focus his nervous energy on something else. He stared at his fingernails, which had become tinted blue again, a common appearance as of late. He kinda liked it though, blue was his favorite color since he was a elementary student. His eyes were blue too, like his mama’s had been.

  
The door burst open after about three minutes, revealing Shiro and Keith. They strolled over and Shiro greeted Lance with a large smile. “Well, well, well. Look what we have here. Good to see you’re actually following through with your promise to Hunk.”

  
Lance snorted. “Only here by force. You know how scary Hunk can be.”

  
Shiro nodded, with a “you got me there” face. He smiled to Keith and stuck a hand out to him, who placed the clipboard in it. Shiro skimmed over it, his eyebrows creasing. Finally, he glanced at Lance. “So, bud, tell me what’s be happening.”

  
Lance felt his smile melt away. “I’ve been getting really bad chest pains, like a cramp in my my heart. And I’ve had no energy for awhile and it’s getting kinda hard to breath sometimes. I turn blue-ish in my lips and nails,” He showed Shiro his hand, the nails still tinted blue.

  
Shiro frowned. “Lance, this is really serious, you should have come in sooner.”

  
Lance avoided eye contact. “But, ya’ know. I’m always in perfect health.” He lied.

  
Shiro patted Lance’s shoulder. “I’d rather you not die, Mr. Perfect.” Keith, who had been standing to the side, handed Shiro a stethoscope and took the clipboard back. Lance winced when Shiro went under his hoodie with the cool metal. After Shiro check several spots with the stethoscope, he was relieved from the harsh cold. “Okie dokie, I’m going to go prep an MRI, just to be safe. Keith, make sure he’s caught up on all his vaccines, and give him a gadolinium injection.” Keith nodded, and Shiro left the two.

  
“I'll be right back. Please stay here." Keith reported, heading out the door in Shiro's footsteps.

  
Lance groaned and flopped back. He hated shots with a passion, but he had his reasons. Perhaps he could convince Keith to turn a blind eye and not give him any. But, before Lance could even form a good plan, Keith and his stupid violet eyes reappeared.

  
Keith plopped the tray of Lance’s kryptonite onto the counter, picking each needle up and flicking it. Lance squirmed uncomfortably at the sight. “You’ll have to get caught up on your vaccines and get a gadolinium shot, so we can have the best quality MRI scan. This means you’ll need six shots in total.”  
“Six?” Lance squeaked, aghast.

  
Keith moved onto another needle. “Influenza, HPV, tetanus, varicella, measles, and gadolinium. Six, Mr. I-skip-almost-ten-years-of-doctors-trips.”  
Lance huffed. “It wasn’t my fault.” Keith just rolled his eyes. “Also, could you just maybe not give me any shots? I’ve been doing pretty good without any so far…”  
Keith exchanged needles again. “Nope. End of discussion.” They sat in silence, Lance fidgeting nonstop. After Keith finished getting any air bubbles out of the syringes, he brought the tray over to the exam table and set it down. He rolled up Lance’s sleeve, fingers hesitating on the circular scar on the inside of his elbow for a second, then continuing on to rub disinfectant on his bicep.

  
Keith looked at Lance, who was grimacing. “You ready?” Lance shook his head, squeezing his eyes shut. “Hey,” Keith whispered. “It’s not gonna be too awful. It’s only a pinch, and it lasts less than a second.” Lance squeezed his eyes tighter, if that was even possible. “Lance, open your eyes.” Lance hesitantly opened his eyes, meeting blurry violet ones. “It’s gonna be okay. Here,” Keith stuck out his pinky. “I pinky promise that I’ll go as quick as possible, and I’ll give you a lollipop.”

  
Lance locked his own pinky with Keith’s, then smirked up at the other. “Thanks, but only if it’s blue raspberry flavored.”

  
“Sure. Are you ready now?” Keith said unkinking their fingers. Lance nodded. As Keith had promised, the shots had gone by quickly, but that didn’t make Lance like them any better. “See? Not that bad.” Keith wiped away the extra blood with a piece of gauze and placed bandages on the injection sites.

  
Lance let out a shaky breath. “I guess you’re right.” He rubbed his sore arm and looked to Keith. “What now?”

  
Keith was searching through a drawer, and pulled out something papery. “Put this on, it’ll allow for a better MRI reading. Once you’ve got it on, we’ll head down.” He snapped his fingers in remembrance, then scurried over to another drawer and pulled out a blue raspberry dum dum and handed it to Lance with the paper gown. Lance forced Keith to turn around first, then disrobed and slipped on the patient gown. Once he was changed, he gave Keith the a-okay. They walked down a series of hallways, their footsteps echoing. Soon, they entered a room with low lighting. Shiro’s voice rang out from a speaker. “Everything’s ready. Go ahead and get him prepped, Keith.”

  
Keith nodded. “Sit down.” He gestured to the bench sticking out from the MRI tube. Lance sat down on it and laid back. “Remain calm, and don’t move at all, or we’ll have to do it all over again.” Lance nodded.

  
The tray slid into the tube, and Lance stared up. He felt confined, but he’d rather get it over with as quick a possible. A short time later, he slid back out, and Keith helped him stand up.

  
“You’re free to go now, Lance. We’ll call you back in once we’ve figured things out, or need to take another test.” Shiro said, his voice bouncing off the walls.  
“See ya.” Lance waved to the window where he knew Shiro was sitting, and followed Keith back to his original checkup room. He changed, said goodbye to Keith, and left. He unwrapped the blue raspberry candy when he was on the bus, sucking on it as he played music and stared out the window, trying to stay distracted. After about thirty minutes, he arrived at his shared loft, Hunk nearly tackling him once he was inside. Pidge was less enthusiastic, giving him a small nod and a grin. “How’s the big boy do at his doctor’s visit?”

  
Lance threw a pillow at her. “Shut up. It was fine, the nurse was hot. But I had to get a MRI. We should invite ‘Lura and Shiro over for dinner.”  
Hunk grinned and ruffle up Lance’s hair. “Sure thing. Take a nap bud. I’ll make sure you get that victory meal.”

  
Lance smiled and headed to his room. He changed in his pajamas and collapsed onto the plush bed, squeezing his eyes shut. "It’s nothing. I’ll be fine." He thought to himself on repeat, fading into unconsciousness.


	2. Diagnose Me, 'Cause Everything Hurts

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please Google Lance's disease, I'm afraid that I didn't do very good job of explaining it :(. This chapter isn't very long, but I should have the next part out soon. I haven't figured out a posting schedule, but a new chapter will be out once a week at least unless over wise said. Thank you for reading!

Lance swung his legs, fingers nervously tapping on the the arms of the chair. He was in Shiro’s office, the windows big and streaming in sunlight and the desk tidy and impersonal. Hunk had offered to come with Lance, but he decided against it. This was his problem, Hunk didn’t need to worry about it. Plus, Hunk had a job at a local bakery, and Lance couldn’t let him loose money over some chest pains.

  
The door clicked open and Shiro walked in, sitting heavily in his desk chair. Lance saw Keith outside the door and sent him a small wave, which was met with a sympathetic smile back before the door closed between them.

  
Shiro made a small sound of greeting, putting on a pair of glasses and flipping through some papers. After a couple of minutes that stretched longer than miles, he spoke. “Good morning, Lance. I… I’m afraid I have some bad news.”

  
Lance’s heart sank to his toes faster than concrete in the ocean. Those were never good words to hear. He cleared his throat before speaking. “Yeah?” He meant to sound brave, but the words came out soft and shaky and nearly on the verge of cracking.

  
Shiro chewed his lip. “I talked to some cardiologists, Allura included, and we’ve established a diagnoses. It's known as Ebstein’s anomaly. It’s congenital, which means that you’ve had it since birth, which isn’t great considering that you’ve gone twenty years without noticing it.

  
Lance blinked a couple times. “Uh, you mean I've had this my _whole_ life? What's it doing to me?” Sweat beaded on his forehead, and his hands had begun to shake a little. "Am I gonna be okay?" He whispered.

  
Shiro chewed his lip, hands crinkling the paper from gripping it so tightly. “In simple terms, it means that your right ventricle is too small. Here.” He pulled out a picture of a heart that seemed normal. “This is what a regular, healthy heart looks like. And this,” He pulled out a second picture of a heart, but the right side expanded. “Is your heart. The right ventricle,” Shiro pointed to two little lines on the right side close to the edges of Lance’s heart. “Isn’t doing it’s job right, so blood is going back into it, which isn’t a good.”

  
Lance nodded, pretty much all of the information Shiro was saying flying right over his head. “Okay… And what can we do to cure me? I'm a young guy, Shiro, there's now way I can-can go so soon.”

  
“Surgical treatment, radiofrequency ablation, and surgical therapy. I'm sure you have many years left still Lance, and with proper treatment, you'll have much more.” Lance didn't uderstand much of the treatments, but he figured that he'd do whatever it'd take to stay around for as long as possible.  
  
“Is it going to be expensive? You know my family's in a tight bit right now, and my job doesn’t really wrack in the big bucks.”

  
Shiro nodded, smiling a little. “We can set up a donations program to help cover the cost, but if all else fails, I’ll help you, and I’m sure Allura would also chip in.” They shared a few more words, then Lance left in a daze. Once he stepped out of the hospital, he broke, falling to the cement and eyes blurring with tears. He thought of his Mama. When she was diagnosed, she had cried all through the night, and had Papa on the phone all night.

  
“Mi amour, please tell me you’ve saved up enough money. They can’t help me here, and the children need me.” She’d sobbed. Lance had sat outside of her door and listened in. As a mere five year old, he didn’t understand why she was so worried about being sick. Couldn’t she just take some medicine and stay in bed for a couple of days? His siblings pulled him away from the door once he had been found, attempting to keep his mind young. The next day, Lance had pulled some marigolds from the garden and presented them to his mama, and he smiled and cried and hugged him tight.

  
He was seven when she needed her first surgery. She had -O, which they had a shortage in, and nobody except Lance had that blood type in their family. He sat patiently as the stuck needles in his arm every hour. Mama came out safely, and a very pale Lance thought that maybe she would be cured from sharing his own healthy blood. He found some marigolds outside in a bush and made them into a flower crown, so her head wouldn’t get cold from the lack of hair.

  
When they finally moved to America to be with Papa, eight year old Lance was years beyond in wisdom. He was terrified that Mama’s condition would only grow worse in the air, and no one would be able to save her. He’d held onto her the entire flight.

  
Ten year old Lance spent everyday at the hospital. Sometimes, he’d have to donate blood for Mama’s surgeries. Once she’d get out, he’d rub her bald head and kiss it, explaining that his magic would save her. She’d laughed and claim that she felt better already, then tell him to do his homework. Lance would nod, telling her that she’d get to watch him get a scholarship. Every Sunday, he’d try to bring marigolds, finally able to buy proper bouquets.

  
It was July when it happened. Two weeks before his birthday. Lance had skipped into the hospital, one hand clutching a massive bouquet of marigolds, the other holding onto his Papa’s. His older siblings were all at drivers ed, so they could help run errands and get jobs to cover the bills. Papa stopped suddenly, and they watched several doctors sprint into Mama’s room.

  
“Why don’t you go get Mama a snack from the vending machines? I’m sure she’d love that.” Papa spoke thickly, handing Lance a five dollar bill.  
Lance went to the waiting room, inserted his money, and punched in the number for a peanut butter cookie, Mama’s favorite. The cookie uncoiled, but instead of falling, it stayed pressed against the glass. The marigolds slipped through his fingers. Lance cried.

  
The funeral was in a Catholic church, which is ironic, because that was the day Lance decided he didn’t believe in a God. The casket was shut, so nobody would have to see Mama’s pale body and hairless face. She was supposedly in her wedding dress like Papa said, but Lance had watched her sell it to make money in Cuba. He went to her grave on his birthday, ten years old and motherless. He had planted a marigold seed on where he assumed was her chest, watering it everyday and tending to it. It never sprouted.

  
At the age of ten, Lance no longer went to the doctor. His father and siblings encouraged him to go, but Lance knew that he could never ever put his family through the pain of losing Mama ever again. He let the grief soak deep in his bones, love with no place to go. A scab that constantly oozed and irritated in his chest.  
Lance let the tears fall down his cheeks, wicked memories and irrational thoughts filling his mind. There was a touch on his shoulder, but Lance didn’t care. A pair of arms awkwardly wrapped around him, and Lance just let himself melt into the embrace.

  
“Oh, Lance…” A voice murmured in his ear, sounding familiar but Lance was too far out of it to place the person it came from  
“Everything is /not/ okay,” His head told him, and he slipped into darkness.


	3. Feed my Soul, it's Starved of You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> blueberry pancakes are good for the weak hearted

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This took longer than expected to come out, whoops! Just been a little stressed lately, but thank you all for reading!

Lance scrawled across a white sheet of paper with a blue crayon as he sat at the dining room table. He was drawing a picture of him and his mama for her so she could see how much his drawing skills had improved. He was proud of the scribbly drawing, and hoped his mama would think so too.

  
Speak of the devil, the door to Lance’s parents room swung open and his mama wandered out and threw open the fridge door for some breakfast. “Papa says you should take your medicine. He also says that you sleep too much.” Lance giggled out, standing up to hug his mama, who rolled her eyes and swept him into a hug.

  
“Well, Papa doesn’t know shit, okay? He’s too deep in those expense reports to notice little old me.” She pulled out her medicine and took her recommended dosage with a grimace. “Ugh. Cancer is the worst. Don’t you dare ever get it, okay Lancey?” She pointed at Lance sternly.

  
Lance nodded, sitting back down to resume his drawing. “I won’t. But you have to stop getting cancer too. I heard you and Papa last night.” He said softly. His mama, smiled sadly, ruffling the mess of Lance’s hair.

  
“I know buddy. I wish I stopped getting it too.” She sat across from Lance. “What are you drawing, bebé?”

  
Lance picked up the blue crayon and began to draw the sky. “I’m drawing us. It’s after we get to go back home, see, there’s the garlic knot shack.” He pointed out the little shack in the background. “Your hair’s grown back too. I know you miss it.” His mama nodded. “I made it for you. Do you like it?”

  
His mama grinned. “It’s lovely. I’ll put it into a picture frame one of these days, okay?” Lance smiled back and nodded. “Now, let’s go to that diner down the street for breakfast. Stuff you full of blueberry pancakes, yeah?”

  
Lance giggled and nodded, standing up to grab his mama’s hand and pull on it. “Let’s go, let’s go!” She laughed and stood up, following behind Lance as they went out the front door.

  
They walked down to the little diner and got ten thousand orders of Lance’s favorite blueberry pancake, feeding themselves until they could barely take sips of water. Lance told his mama all the jokes this kid named Hunk had told him at school, loving the sound of her laughter. People would stare at his mama's head, but Lance would send them smile and they'd send a pitying one back.

  
After about two hours, they decided that the stern looks they were getting from the waitress was a signal for them to hit the curb. Lance watched as his mama stood with a smile, then as it melted off her face and she fell backwards. Lance shrieked. He doesn’t remember a whole lot about what happens next, the ride to the hospital and his siblings and father arriving all blurring together. Only one thing managed to stick in his mind.

  
The doctor came out from Lance’s mama’s room with a grim face. “It’s reached her brain.” The words stung like venom through Lance’s blood all of sudden he was sobbing and breaking down while the rest of his family watched with dry eyes. It took three hours for Lance’s papa to drag him about of the hospital.

 

Once they got home, Lance’s siblings all went to their rooms while Lance crawled in bed with his Papa, still hiccupping. He remembered his drawing sitting alone on the table, and he sobbed again, latching onto his papa's side. They stayed like that until heavy eyelids forced Lance into a state of restless sleep.

When Lance woke up, the warmth from his papa is gone and the room smelled like chemicals instead of cinnamon. His head felt clogged and gross, his stomach felt like it did a carousel at 90 miles per hour . He rubbed his eyes and tried to sit up, ultimately failing. Lance sensed a presence next to him after a moment and turned to look, meeting a dazzling pair of violet eyes. “Keith..?”

 

Said person shifted uncomfortably with a small wave. “Hi.” Lance moved to sit up again, and Keith reached over to help. “Are- uh- you feeling okay?”

 

“Uh… Dizzy? Foggy too.” Lance rubbed his eyes, a small tugging sensation at his wrist. He looked down and noticed he was connected to and IV drip of something. “What’s this?” He asked.

 

Keith chewed his lip and passed Lance a cup of water. “It’s glucose. You kinda passed out from lack of nutrients. Are you, um, I’m not sure how to put this gently but, are you starving yourself on purpose?” He shifted awkwardly, like he’d rather be anywhere but next to Lance.

 

Lance downed the water like a shot. “No. I’ve just had a… stressful week. With my job, waiting for the test results, and figuring out a way to turn sleep into money to pay rent... I kinda forgot to eat. Sorry.”

 

Keith’s lips quirk into a smile for half a second before he took the cup from Lance. “We have to keep you here for the night. So, uh, get comfy I guess.” He scratched the back of his neck. “I’ll go get you some food. Any requests?" Keith asks softly.

 

Lance chewed his lip for a minute, thinking about his dream. "I'll have blueberry pancakes. As many of 'em as you can get." He mumbled after a momnet, looking up at Keith with pained eyes.

 

Keith nodded, hesitating for a moment before taking off like a bullet in the direction Lance hoped was the cafeteria.

 

He watched the nurse disappear, smiling to himself. “What a dork.” He muttered, before fixating on a lose thread in his blanket. This wasn’t so bad. He just had to stay one night. He wasn’t going to have move here like his mama. “Not yet.” His brain supplied, but Lance shoved the thought away. That was for another day when he wasn’t so hungry.

  
  


 


End file.
